Can a Play Solve the Problem with Men?

CW - Family violence, self harm, suicide, substance abuse. 

It is easy to argue that Australian men are in crisis. The statistics alone tell a brutal tale. 

The Institute of Family Studies found in a 2025 study that 1 in 3 men had committed some act of intimate partner violence as an adult. That’s a 24% increase from the numbers a decade ago. White Ribbon Australia reports that around 95% of survivors experienced that violence at the hands of a man. Australia’s media landscape is littered with stories of men killing their partners, their children, and even complete strangers. Some of those victims become household names - Hannah Clarke, Luke Batty, Jill Meagher - but the vast majority do not. 

Men are disproportionately harming themselves too. 

Research from Suicide Prevention Australia shows that men make up over 75% of deaths by suicide, with the rates for older men and men in regional areas on the rise over the last 5 years. Lifeline says that suicide risk is far higher for Indigenous Australians, and Australians who identify as LGBTQIA+, while Life in Mind identifies young people as higher risk. Suicide is the leading cause of death for people aged between 15 and 24 years old. 

However, it’s unlikely that I need to convince you that masculinity is in crisis with facts and figures. Statistically, you already know someone who has suffered the consequences of this crisis - a family member, a loved one, a friend, a colleague, yourself. 

The question that has been posed in the media, in online discourse, and by successive governments over the last few decades is not if there is a crisis going on with Australia’s men. Instead, as a community, we ask - what can be done about it? 

That is harder to answer, in part because the causes are so varied. Men are almost universally the ones committing harm, to themselves and others, but the reasons behind it can be difficult to pinpoint. The behaviour stems from countless factors - his health, his economic status, his age, his family situation, his history, even where he lives.

It is easy to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of salient misogynist influencers, who flaunt hedonistic lifestyles and spew femicidal rhetoric directly into the feeds of Australia’s most vulnerable men. These voices call out from the Manosphere and beg the rest of us to think of the Male Loneliness Epidemic, the new plight of men left disconnected from the world around them. They claim that it is this rejection that causes the hatred that leads to death. Their cries coincide with a rising tide of gender discrimination, as women and other vulnerable people lose access to their rights across the world. Some would have you believe that it is the responsibility of women to solve this mess. If only we could be better mothers, lovers, wives, and daughters, submit and do our duty, then the ire of man would not find us. 

In reality, the cage that keeps women in their place is the same cage that Tate and his cronies argue men should remain confined within too - one where masculinity is defined by pain, hatred, and conformity, where violence is the only method of expression. 

Over the course of this year, I’ve been working with Newcastle-based theatremaker Lily Cox on her new play, A Gum Tree on Summer Road. When we first sat down to discuss this work, she explained the impetus behind it- a recent spate of deaths by suicide that occured close to her home town. It’s a morbid story, deeply tragic, tabooed, and fascinating. It was an event that posed the kinds of social questions that keep artists up at night. What would drive a young person to end their own life? How does one death become a contagion? What can be done about it? 

But instead of simply turning this story of unfathomable loss into a straight drama, Cox embarked on a long research project in an attempt to uncover that elusive root cause. She immediately ran into the reality that the statistics reflect - suicide is a condition exacerbated by countless social, economic, and health factors. 

So, she started interviewing men. She spoke to men from different cultural backgrounds and age groups, talking to them about their experiences of mental illness, loss, death. She found, across a huge demographic range, the same familiar story. 

At the root of it all is pain. Childhood trauma compounding into lifelong mental illnesses, pressure from every angle to repress unacceptable emotions, and an eventual explosion of violence that solves nothing and only causes more harm. Cycles of pain handed down like family heirlooms, men inheriting a world that was both built for them and designed to cut them down to size. 

From these interviews came Cox’s script, which was first performed at Newcastle Fringe Festival in February, and is being staged again this September at Sydney Fringe. 

As a dramaturg, I could write endlessly about the strengths of the text as a static document - but for me, as someone who has had the privilege of participating in rehearsals, I found myself shocked by the experience of watching it performed. 

The problem of men contains within it a bizarre tension - men are the dominant demographic force in society, and yet they have been so badly ostracised by society that their violence runs rampant. How can it be that men are victims of the very structures that they have built and maintained for hundreds of years? 

It is interesting to apply this to a theatrical context. A colleague once proposed a theory of misogyny in the theatre - there are women at all levels of leadership, in every role, but they are rarely the ones in the spotlight. A theatre company might have a female-dominated team, from the CEO all the way down to the ushers, but their efforts are so often hidden in the shadow of one man who appears to run the show. Every dramaturg I have ever worked with was a woman. Almost every show has had a female director, a female designer, sometimes an all-female cast. The most men I routinely encounter in my line of work are performers. 

And yet, as the old adage goes, male actors get all the best parts. The worlds of Shakespeare, Miller, Ibsen, and Chekhov are populated by complex men, filled with nuance, darkness, meaning. Yes, there are great women in there as well- but Hamlet is more often touted as a dream role than Ophelia. 

And so often, the Great Men of the Theatre are also powerful men. They are kings, generals, and leaders. Despite their flaws, they remain strangely aspirational. They are both downtrodden and extraordinary. They are tortured, but there is something lush about their anguish. 

In theatre, men’s pain is downright glamorous. 

I think John Proctor’s famous declaration in The Crucible demonstrates this well. Why does he condemn himself to death rather than suffering the indignity of lying to save his skin? As he tells it - 

Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!

I think the pain that Proctor exhibits, that all great masculine figures of tragedy feel in some way, is more meaningful in fiction than it is in real life. Men in pain in the great works of theatre perform beautifully written monologues, express themselves eloquently, exhibit a range of breathtaking emotions, and earn a round of applause at the end. In reality, depression and suicidality is deeply mundane. There is nothing beautiful about rotting in bed. There is nothing cathartic about not being able to take a shower. Meaning lives in spoken word, not in unanswered phone calls. 

Cox’s script and directorial style trends far closer to the brutal reality of mental illness than high drama. And watching this cast of young male performers embody that mundane pain feels hard to watch compared to some stunning traditional tragic monologue. 

In A Gum Tree on Summer Road, men don’t explain their feelings. Instead, they simmer in devastating silence. Their anger explodes at the innocent - their mothers, their friends, their girlfriends. The monologues are clipped, casual, and more devastating for it - 

I wanted to be with my dad. I needed to hear his voice again. I wanted his advice. After I let go of our farm hand, I had to work so much more. I stopped being able to see my school friends and it all kinda just fizzled out. It feels weird reaching back out. I don’t know what I’m doing man. I really don’t.

On paper, it feels ordinary - the magic comes when it is performed. 

I asked the actors that are performing this show - Evan Graham, Marley Dunn, Richard Lavroff, and what it feels like to work on this show. Marley explained it like this-

At first there was definitely a lot of pressure when approaching this play, due to the heavy subject matter. I wanted to do it justice. But once we started working as an ensemble, it was easy to let go and discover things in a way that was very joyful, whilst also keeping that level of respect and care that a story like this deserves… It’s a very special feeling knowing that despite the hardships we may go through, the fact that we're in this together makes it that little bit easier. The camaraderie that goes with that notion, I believe, is reflected very well in this show and I’m grateful that I got to add my own little touch of humanity into this piece.

That camaraderie is what moved me as I sat in rehearsals. I watched these young men open up their souls, embodying the discomfort that the subject matter demands, then switch back to jokes when the scene ends. This rehearsal process has shown me both the problem of modern masculinity, and the solution. It has given me hope to see these young men laugh, sing, jokingly push each other's buttons, lose themselves in silly conversations, then give life to this crisis through performance the next. I have had the privilege of watching our director lead them through the darkness of this script with compassion and humour, and make room in rehearsal for play even when the topic demands seriousness. Cox’s work is not a lecture, or a series of devastating statistics, but instead is a world constructed of both masculine pain and joy. Her approach to this topic, as an artist and as a human being, has been deeply inspiring. 

So - can one play solve the problem with men? No. That solution can likely only come with well-funded intervention programs and a true socio-cultural shift when it comes to the expectations put on men. But sharing stories that bridge the divides between us, creating art with purpose, and shining light into the darker corners of the human experience can take us towards a path of healing. If this play helps even one person to feel seen, then it has done its job. 

A Gum Tree on Summer Road is playing at the Qtopia’s Loading Dock Theatre from the 15th to the 19th September 2026.

All images © Nina Shchegoleva